"Gotta make a living," Bernie said.
"Whaddya want to see him about."
"Save a lot of trouble, you tell me where he is," I said.
"Save a lot of trouble for you," Bernie said.
"Whaddya want?"
"I got his wife, and Anthony Meeker with me, we need to make a deal."
"Say I tell him that and he wants to see you, where you want to do it."
"Vacant lot," I said, "off the Strip, halfway between The Mirage and the MGM Grand, back of a boarded-up Greek restaurant, you know it?"
"Where they found the dead broad?" Bernie said.
"Yeah."
"What if he don't like that spot?"
"Then the hell with him," I said.
"I'll get back to you."
"You know where I am?"
"Yeah, sure, you're at The Mirage. What am I, stupid?"
"And Marty's probably at the Grand," I said.
"People tend to go back to the same hotel."
"Even if he is you don't know what name."
"Why would he use a fake one?" I said.
"Beats me," Bernie said, and hung up.
In ten minutes Bernie called back.
"Marty'll be there at one," he said.
"Okay," I said.
I hung up the phone and said to Bibi, "Come on, let's collect Anthony."
She looked at her watch.
"He may still be in bed."
"Okay, we'll start there. You knock on his door, and stand where he can see you through the peephole. When you hear him start to take the chain bolt off, step out of the way."
"What are you going to do?" Bibi said.
"Reason with him."
We went up four floors from my room and found 1415 at the other end of the corridor. I stood against the wall to one side of the door, the side the doorknob was on. Bibi rang the bell. There was no movement. She rang it again. A voice said something indistinguishable. Then silence. Then the voice again. Still indistinguishable. Then the sound of the chain being removed. Bibi stepped to the other side of the door, and when it opened, I rolled off the wall and stepped through it, and hit him with a left hook and he staggered back into the room and sat abruptly on the bed. I took Bibi's arm and pulled her with me into the room, and shut the door.
Anthony's eyes shifted toward the night table and I took a long step past him and picked up a.380 Colt off the table and put it in my coat pocket.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Anthony said.
"Solving this case," I said.
"What case?"
"This one," I said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"Why the fuck'd you hit me?"
"Get your attention," I said.
He was wearing his bathrobe and the right side of his jaw where I'd punched him was beginning to puff.
"Put some clothes on," I said.
"We're going out."
"What are you, nuts? You can't come in here and order me around, for cris sake "That's what the punch was for," I said.
"To remind you that I can come in here and order you around. Get dressed."
"Bibi, honey, this is crazy, what's going on?"
"You have to do what he says, Anthony."
I gave him a light pat on the cheek.
"Move it, Anthony, any reason to pop you again is a good reason."
Anthony said "For cris sake again but he went to the back of a chair where his pants were, turned his back modestly, took off the robe, and slipped into the pants. When he went to the bathroom, I went with him and watched him splash water on his face and comb his hair, and came back with him while he took a clean white-on white shirt out of the top bureau drawer and put it on. He buttoned the shirt up and turned back the cuffs and tucked the tail inside his stretch waistband. There were no belt loops on his pants.
"Where we going?" he said.
He was putting on his wristwatch.
"We're having a meeting with Marty Anaheim."
He froze. His mouth opened but he didn't speak. His eyes shifted to Bibi. She nodded.
"He'll kill me," Anthony said and his voice was scratchy.
"He'll kill Bibi too."
"No," I said.
"He won't."
"Yeah, he will, you don't know. He will kill me."
"I won't let him," I said.
"Come on, we need to get going."
"Why don't we call the cops?" he said.
"They can take care of Marty, can't they?"
"Cops think you killed your wife," I said.
"And they got no reason to look for Marty. You want to give them a ringy ding?"
"Why do you need me?" Anthony said.
"I'm on a good roll at the blackjack tables. Today I was going to bust 'em. I got no problem with Marty. Bibi can go with you. Hell, she's his wife."
I hit him again, not too hard. He bumped against the wall but didn't go down.
"That's why," I said.
"Jesus man, stop it. I'll go. Okay? Fine. No problem."
He straightened from the wall, rubbing the lump where'd I'd hit him twice.
"Can I have my gun back?"
"No."
We were silent down the corridor and in the elevator. He could of course make a dash in the casino and probably succeed, but it would bring the cops. And the cops thought he killed his wife.
Outside the bright desert air hinted faintly of carbon monoxide as we walked down the Strip.
"It's fucking hot, man," Anthony said.
"We gotta walk? How come we can't ride."
"Shut up," I explained.
"Where's Hawk? Shouldn't he be with us? You think you can go up against Marty alone?"
"Marty won't be alone," Bibi said.
"He's never alone. There'll be three, four others with him."
"Got that covered," I said.
We got to the defunct Greek restaurant about five to one. There was plywood over the plate glass windows, and on the front door as well. Someone had sprayed Julio Caesar Chavez on the front door plywood in swirling black. We went around behind the building. It was as deserted as it had been when I was there last, looking at Shirley Ventura's dead eyes in the bright sunlight. Beside me Anthony was making little whimpering sounds. Bibi was swallowing audibly. There was the sound of birds though I didn't see any, and the sound of cars going seventy-five on Interstate 15 maybe a hundred yards away, beyond the wire fence that enclosed the empty back lot. The wire was woven with weeds and grass that had formed a nearly solid mat along the fence. There were colonies of the same weeds scattered sparsely over the lot. Our feet crunched loudly on the gravel surface. Fifty feet beyond the restaurant was a corrugated metal utility building. Deep into the back corner of the lot were several cars gutted and partly disassembled, looking like discorporating carcasses.
"Place has Marty written all over it, hasn't it?" I said.
Neither of them answered. So much for small talk.
CHAPTER 51
We waited. The near midday sun baked down on the gravel lot. A big maroon rental car crunched into the gravel area in front of the restaurant. It stopped out of sight. I could hear the doors open and close and then the crunch of footsteps and Marty Anaheim came around the corner of the restaurant wearing a white linen suit over a black tank top. With him was a fat Mexican in a flowered shirt and a funny small hat. Bibi was stone silent beside me. Anthony was moaning softly.
"Marty, you stylish bastard," I said.
"Love your tank."
Marty and the Mexican kept walking straight toward us, without saying a word. This was calculated to make me feel faint. It wasn't working with me, but it seemed effective with Anthony. Finally they stopped about two feet away. The Mexican moved a little ways to my right. He had small eyes and they had no expression in them.
"Who's this," I said and nodded at the Mexican, "a leaner from the local guys?"
Marty ignored me. He stared straight at Bibi.
"When this is over, little girl, you're coming with me."
She didn't say anything. Marty looked at Anthony.
"And you're dead," he said.
Then he turned his attention, almost as if it were an afterthought, to me.